To Marry a Tiger (12 page)

“I’m sorry there’s so much of it,” Mario said in her ear. “Traditionally, only our mothers do this, but they are not here and we seem to have acquired rather a lot of substitutes!”

Ruth laughed. Truth to tell, she was beginning to enjoy herself. The heat and light from the bonfires attracted her and she loved the lined, leathery faces of the old women as they pressed in close to her. She thanked them all in her broken Italian, willingly grasping their hands as they shouted their good wishes into her ear.

The procession moved slowly but inexorably towards one end of the square where some trestle tables had been laid ready. The priest went anxiously ahead of them, clearing a path for them to travel towards the top of the centre table.

“You must sit here,” he told them.

“And taste the honey!” an old man called to them.

It was Mario’s turn to laugh. He dipped a spoon into the pot of honey on the table and held it out to Ruth. “Only half, mind!” he told her as her lips closed over it.

Her eyes danced. “What happens if I take more than my share?”

“I haven’t the remotest idea!”

He licked the spoon clean and joined in the laughter around them. The people pressed forward, all of them anxious to get a seat at the table where Mario and Ruth were sitting.

The meal that followed was a sumptuous affair. Ruth thought that the women must have spent the greater part of the day preparing it and was touched that they should take so much trouble. It was true that it was Mario’s money that had probably paid for it all, but it couldn’t pay for the love and esteem they had showered on him, and therefore on his wife, that night.

Two dishes in particular seemed to be essential to the feast: a thick kind of macaroni, called
maccarruna di ziti
,
and stewed pork. Ruth was reminded immediately that both the Romans and the Etruscans had eaten pork at weddings and she liked the idea that the custom should have survived through so many centuries and changes. It made her feel more a part of the island of Mario’s people.

“When the wedding supper is held at home, plates of macaroni are sent to every household in the neighbourhood,” Mario told her. “At least that won’t be necessary tonight!”

Ruth glanced over to where Pearl was sitting. Her sister sat over the table, with her head drooping over hunched shoulders, picking at the food in front of her. She looked the picture of misery and Ruth felt uneasy at the sight. Sooner or later, if Pearl was unhappy, someone else would be called upon to pay the bill, and, just tonight, she didn’t want it to be her!

Mario’s glance followed Ruth’s eyes. “I’ll get Henry to dance with her as soon as the music begins,” he promised.

Ruth nodded. It wasn’t Henry that Pearl wanted to dance with, but she could hardly say so. She looked away and tried to forget all about her, but she couldn’t. Wherever she looked, there was Pearl, hunched up and miserable, and accusing Ruth in her misery because she had stolen Mario from her and was sitting beside
him
only because she was a cheat and a fraud.

And it was all true! Ruth gulped and choked. Mario cast her an anxious look and poured her out some wine.

“Why must you worry so much?” he asked her gently. “Do you think I cannot protect my wife?”

She shook
her head. “No,” she admitted.

“Well then?” he prompted her.

“You might not want to,” she said diffidently.

He was plainly astonished. “Then you do not know Sicilians! The Verdecchio family is very old and very proud. Isn’t it enough for you to be one of us? Who would dare harm us?”

Ruth didn’t feel able
to tell him. “I
expect it’s
the
wine and the heat,” she
said apologetically.

“We will call it that,” he agreed.

One of the other great landlords of the island, a man who had been to school with Mario and was a lifelong friend, rose to his feet, beating on the table for silence. “What happens now?” Ruth asked, startled.

Mario chuckled. “It’s as well your Italian isn’t very good,” he told her. “He’s about to give the
canzuna
!
”

She was still puzzled. “What is that
?
”

“A kind of nuptial ballad,” he smiled. “This fellow is an expert, so beware
!”

Ruth sat in a frozen silence until the last, lingering verses came to an end. Her Italian didn’t need to be very good, she thought, for her to gather the general sense of the improvised ballad. The look in the eyes of his hearers was more than enough to tell her that all she had ever heard about Sicily and Sicilians was true. They were delighted with Mario’s sudden romance. What better way was there to marry than to abduct one’s bride and refuse to send her back
?
This was the way it had always
been! Had not Odysseus abducted Penelope from her father, Icarius, King of Sparta? And what had been Penelope’s reaction when her father had pursued them right into Ithaca? She had lowered her veil, signifying that she was going to follow her husband wherever he led! What a scandal it had been in those far off days when a man had lived with his wife’s people! Yet Penelope had set a world-wide fashion, followed by the new Signora Verdecchio that very day! A man’s strength should win him his bride, and Mario had done just that!

Happily, some of the innuendoes passed Ruth by, but the compliments to herself were subtle and pleased her. When the ballad came to a resounding close, she was flushed and, had she known it, lovely. When her features were still, she might look plain, but when her eyes lit
with excitement, she had a warmth and vivacity whic
h
other, more beautiful, women often lack.

A violin began to scrape a tune on the other side of the square and within seconds all the musicians of the village had gathered together and started to play the traditional dances of ancient Sicily: the
fasola
,
the
puliciusa
,
the
chiovu
,
and the
papariana
.
There was hardly anyone left alive who knew the steps as they should have been danced, but nobody cared. At a wedding, nobody thought about these things!

Mario stood up and held out his hand to Ruth. She followed his lead, a little self-conscious at having to begin the dance. The cobbles of the square were uneven and hardly made for dancing, but it didn’t matter at all. Mario’s arms went round her and, following the intricate bars of music, they matched their steps together and crossed the square, at first alone, but then with a hundred other couples, young and old, following behind them.

Mario’s hands felt very strong on her back. He pulled her closer to him and she went gladly. She was no longer nervous or unhappy about the future. For this moment, she gave herself up to the exultant happiness of being his wife. Then the music came to an end and the moment
with it.

“
Signore
, you may not monopolise the bride!” The laughing rebuke came between them and Mario reluctantly relinquished her to the next man in line. And so it went on, until Ruth felt she must have danced with every man there, as they each claimed the privilege of dancing with the bride.

She longed for Mario to come back and take her in his arms again, but he did not. Henry stood before her once, dancing stiff
l
y to attention and barely in time to the music as they circled the square.

“I trust you will be very happy,” he said formally when the dance wore to a close.

“Thank you,” she answered demurely. She ought to say something more, she thought, but she could think of nothing that was appropriate. Her happiness lay in other hands than Henry’s. She searched the crowded square for a sight of Mario, half-hoping that he would come to her. And then she saw him and he was dancing with Pearl. And even as she looked, he bent his head and kissed her sister gently on the cheek.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RUTH tried to pretend to herself that she had not noticed. She turned back to Henry with an eager smile.

“Shall we dance the next one together too?” she asked him.

“If—if you like,” Henry agreed reluctantly. “But, to tell the truth, Mario has already warned me off!”

Ruth looked innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said.

“Well, there was that day when I took you round the place,” he reminded her. “He didn’t like it!”

Ruth felt decidedly cross. “It wasn’t any of his business what I did!” she pointed out.

“He seemed to think it was!” Henry remembered. “And you weren’t married to him then
!
He’d probably throw me out of Sicily if I so much as look at you now!”

“I don’t believe it!” Ruth denied hotly. “If he felt like that, he wouldn’t agree to half the island dancing with me now, would he?”

“That is customary!” Henry returned. “But nobody has more than one dance with the bride, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I can’t say that I have!” Ruth said ruefully. “My feet hurt!” she added.

“Well, there you are then!” Henry said thankfully. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Because,” Ruth said flatly, “I don’t see why Mario should enjoy himself as he pleases if I can’t
!”

Henry grinned reluctantly. “Facts of life,” he said.

“Oh, Henry!” Ruth exclaimed in despair.

“Don’t see why you should care,” Henry went on reasonably enough. “After all, he knew Pearl before he ever met you. It was a pretty low-down trick you played on him at that—”

Ruth turned on him angrily. “J didn’t do anything! All I did was come to Sicily to tell him what I thought of him for playing about with Pearl’s affections. And what happened? He forced me to marry him
!
”

“You know what?” Henry said wisely. “You’re jealous of Pearl
!”

“
I am not
!
”

“
I think you are,” Henry went on imperturbably. “I’m not saying you haven’t good reason to be, because she—well, she has what it takes, hasn’t she? Anyone can see that.”

Ruth eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you mean that you’re attracted to her too?” she asked, almost eagerly.

He looked embarrassed. “She’s immensely pretty,” he said stiffly.

“Yes, isn’t she?” Ruth agreed. “And she’s having a miserable time really. Why don’t you go and cheer her up?”

For a long moment he considered the matter. “I think I’d better not,” he said at last. “I don’t want to step on Mario’s toes twice over!”

“
Damn
Mario!” Ruth exploded.

“Yes, well, it’s all right for you,” he said. “He won’t do anything to you, but he was quite explicit as to what he would do to me! I wouldn’t like to risk it. He looks quite civilised and reasonable, but I never knew a Sicilian yet who was when it comes to women. They’ll stick a knife in you as soon as look at you if you so much as look at their sister!”

This gloomy thought seemed to depress him so much that Ruth hadn’t got the heart to argue with him.

“It isn’t
fair
,”
she said.

But Henry wouldn’t have this. “I don’t think fairness comes into it,” he said objectively. “I rather admire them, actually. I mean, I couldn’t work myself up into a fury about nothing, if you know what I mean, but they do it with great verve and dash, don’t you think? I think if I were a woman I’d be rather flattered.”

Ruth missed her step, tripping over the cobbles. “
Flattered
? Henry, you don’t know what you’re talking about! Why should one be flattered by having to stay at home being grateful for the crumbs that fall one’s way?”

He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t as bad as that?”

“It seems every bit as bad as that to me!” she snapped.

“I can’t see why,” he objected. “If you want to know,
I
think you and Mario are very well matched!”

Ruth was shocked into silence.
“
I
don’t go round kissing other people,” she muttered when the silence had become unbearable to her.

“But you’d like to,” Henry said simply. “You’d do it just to attract Mario’s attention, to see what he would do. I daresay that’s why he kissed Pearl, come to that,” he added darkly.

“I don’t believe you!” Ruth said harshly.

“I’m not asking you to,” Henry retorted, for once sure of his ground. “But I can tell you that no one will cross Mario round_here, so you won’t be able to try! What’s more, I think it’s a jolly good thing. Mario would probably beat you!”

“Just let him try!” Ruth exclaimed through gritted teeth.

“Well, I think he might,” Henry affirmed.